Peculiar Worlds and Circular Illusions

by Walter Winch

front of the women.

  "What?" said Deborah looking sideways.

  "They need to be more careful."

  "I'm sure it wasn't intentional," Deborah said, patting Terry's hand.

  "Hickory, dickory, dock, the tarantula went up the clock. My, ah, husband used to say that. Just an expression."

  "Would you like to go to your room?" Deborah said.

  "Oh yes," said Terry. "To freshen up."

  Carlos went over to the window. Angela remained in the room. "She's upset."

  He turned to Angela. "What?"

  "Terry. Terry Simmons."

  "Hm."

  "You're not exactly calm yourself."

  "Me?" Angela nodded. "It's the waiting. It was always the waiting," said Carlos.

  "I think she'll be all right," Deborah said returning to the room.

  "It's not for everyone," Angela said. "Married?"

  "No. Never," Deborah replied.

  "I was. For two years. But he was the jealous type—to say the least. Didn't like other men staring at me."

  "I've never really understood them," said Deborah.

  "Men?"

  "Yes. So different."

  "Yeah, well, they can be strange sometimes," Angela said.

  Terry returned wearing a bright yellow sun dress. "It's so quiet here." Carlos started to snatch a cigarette from his pocket. "They're bad for you, Mr. Gus-man, and they make your hair smell."

  "My name is pronounced Gooosmaan. What is bad?"

  "The cigarettes, Mr. Gomun."

  "Oh. I think I'll try to stop."

  "You'll feel better," said Terry. "My husband stopped ten years ago."

  They all turned toward the door when they heard the deep, throaty sound of what sounded like a high performance sports car from outside. A minute later a car door slammed. Then the front door opened.

  A slightly disheveled young man, his necktie undone and carrying a clipboard stood in front of them and smile apologetically. "I'm really, really sorry. And I mean really sorry I'm late."

  "And you are?" Deborah said.

  "I'm sorry. I'm Avery. I'll be with you this week. Again, I'm sorry. Is everything all right? Do you need anything?" No one said a word. "Well. Let me confirm the names." He glanced at his clipboard. "Lake-Angela."

  "Right here."

  "Settled in?"

  "Oh, absolutely."

  "Great. Guzman-Carlos."

  "Si. For now it is all right."

  "Awesome. Simmons-Terry."

  "I'm here."

  "Any problems?"

  "Well ... one. My husband was supposed to come. But didn't. I guess, it happens once in a while?"

  "Hm." Avery studied his clipboard. "Hm." He then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Hm." His mouth puckered up for a moment. "I'm really, really sorry. It doesn't happen—hardly ever. That kind of mistake."

  "He won't be coming later?" Terry said.

  "I'm really, really sorry. No, he's not scheduled anytime soon."

  "Oh." Terry's disappointment was obvious. Angela put her arm around Terry's shoulder.

  "Wickman-Deborah."

  "Yes."

  "Everything all right?"

  "Will we get an agenda, list of activities, that sort of thing?"

  "Absolutely. I'm your platform coordinator for the week, and I think you'll really like the program. We have exciting new seminars, special events, some really inspiring guest speakers. And again, let me welcome you to Casa Luminosa. The Lighted House."

  "We will leave a week from today?" Carlos said.

  "Yes. Five p.m. sharp to be precise."

  "Hm. You are certain about this precise?"

  With a slight nervous laugh Avery said, "Oh, yes. No mistakes there. Trust me on that one."

  "And we'll know everything?" said Angela.

  "Absolutely. The orientation program is designed to make you feel both comfortable and confident. Especially considering your particular situations. It's really hard for me to believe that at one time there was no orientation of any kind. Is that incredible or what."

  "What about touring around the town? As well as the beach," Deborah asked.

  "Of course. Early morning and late afternoon you'll have free time. For the first three days that is. After that, you probably won't have any interest."

  "That soon?" Angela said.

  "Uh, huh. Well, any other questions?"

  "Ah, I do," said Terry. "I'm a little nervous. I never did anything like this before. And Harry not being with me. Well, you know, our bodies?"

  "Right. Er, I'm not sure about your question," Avery said.

  "Does it hurt?"

  "Oh, gosh no. It's well ... have you ever had any root canal work?"

  "Once. But that hurt."

  "It's not as bad as that. It's like, you know, it's like once you have the Novocain really working, there's only a slight sensation. A little tugging maybe."

  "Oh. That won't be bad."

  "I think we are dead anyway. Yes?" Carlos looked at everyone in the room.

  Angela laughed. "I was thrown off the patio on the twenty-fifth floor of a luxury condo. No pain no gain."

  "Si. I was strangled by the secret police, and I am here now. And what about you, Deborah?"

  Oh, nothing really, Mr. Guzman. I was stabbed in the neck with a scalpel by one of the sick twins." She smiled. "But not until I managed to inject the other sociopath with strychnine. Well worth it in the long run. By the way, the trip is fast?"

  "That's a question I can't answer. Once you leave here—you're there." Avery glanced at his watch. "I'm sorry. But I have some errands to run. I should be back in a couple of hours. In the meantime, make yourselves comfortable."

  "Well I'm going for a swim," said Angela.

  "Yeah, I'd like that too. Being murdered in a home invasion can't stop a Kansas girl. Certainly won't have to worry about a sunburn anymore." Terry giggled. "Or drowning."

  "I think I'll take a walk around the town, " Deborah said.

  With a casual motion Carlos lifted a cigarette from his shirt pocket and pulled out his lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a long, slow draw. "What kind of car you driving?" he said to Avery the platform coordinator.

  "C-mon, I'll show you. Great mileage." Within a few minutes the room was silent once more. But several minutes later from the back of the house came the faint sound of a phone ringing. "Welcome to Casa Luminosa. At the sound of the tone..."

  A Daguerreotype

  I glanced at my pocket watch. I couldn't be late, I knew that. I had come to this part of the city as I was to meet Madoc Geilker at the pier on a Liberian steamer, which was owned by a Panamanian holding company. The holding company supposedly belonged to a firm in Singapore whose principal stockholders, I'd been informed, were three Hungarians and three Chinese from Shanghai.

  The area I was now in had an abandoned and specter-like quality. Business had long since migrated to the western and southern parts of the city. I turned onto Graybar Street on an especially chilly and overcast day.

  But perhaps fifteen or twenty yards away in the direction of the waterfront was a dog ... a beagle perhaps, dragging or pulling another dog by its front paw. The dog being pulled lay on its side and did not move. Near the larger dogs hovered two beagle puppies. I have always been fond of pets, especially dogs.

  On the other side of Graybar Street a woman stepped off the curb and moved slowly in my direction. She walked with a slight limp. I glanced back in the direction where I had seen the dogs. To my surprise, I now saw two children, a girl and a boy, possibly ten or eleven, standing a few feet from the animals. Both of the children appeared to be crying.

  The woman stepped onto the sidewalk. She wore a brown coat with a tattered collar and clutched a faded green shopping bag in her right hand. The woman nodded. I touched my hat. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that," I said, motioning in the direction of the dogs.

  The woman glanced at the dogs and then looked at
me. "The children were jumping on the dogs."

  "I'm sorry? Jumping?

  "Playing with the dogs," the woman explained. "In their way."

  "The one dog isn't moving," I said.

  "I think they killed the poor creature."

  "What?" I now stared at the boy and the girl. Both of them were pale and kept rubbing their noses, and their clothes I now realized were torn and shabby. They stood off to one side and watched, watched as the one dog pulled the other dog a few feet and then stopped. A moment later the dog took the other dog's paw and dragged it another few feet before stopping once more. "I'm not quite sure what to make of this," I heard myself mutter.

  "She must have cared for him," the woman said.

  "Who?"

  "She is pulling the male dog."

  "Oh. The children ought to be helping in some way."

  "It's never always clear is it."

  When I turned to say something to the woman, she was limping down the street. I watched as she vanished around the corner, a faint aroma of fresh soap trailing after her I thought. The sky to the west began to darken and I noticed flickering lights behind the sullen clouds.

  The dogs and the two children were farther away. But what I had not realized before was the steep descent of the street, nearly a forty-five degree angle I estimated. Not only was the scene receding off into the distance, but it was also slipping below the horizon because of the precipitous incline of Graybar Street.

  The dogs and the children had now disappeared from sight. I made the decision to follow them, as long as they continued in the general direction where I needed to be. I was naturally curious—and annoyed. The children should be helping in some way. Was something wrong with them?

  I reached the beginning of the incline and started down. In the distance the female dog rested momentarily, then grasped her mate's paw in her mouth and resumed her dragging. The puppies hovered nearby and the two children rubbed their eyes and noses. Jagged lacerations